


To Let A Good Thing Die

by wordswithinmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithinmoments/pseuds/wordswithinmoments
Summary: In which you reminisce on your journey of healing, and the other, is well, Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 151





	To Let A Good Thing Die

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by bruno major's to let a good thing die, so listening to the song while reading this gives it a little kick :) crossposted from my tumblr (myelocin)

“ _Congratulations._ ”

He was blunt and straight to the point but that still had you stop in your tracks to find space to sit down on the wooden floor. Pushing a half filled box to the side, a sigh would occasionally escape from you as you let yourself lean on the box.

“Congratulations.” You read out loud. “He’s as boring as usual.” A small chuckle found its way out of your throat as you set your phone on top of one of the taped off boxes.

Sakusa Kiyoomi had appeared in your life in a mirage of colors. In your youth, he was yellow. A yellow sweatshirt worn by a boy who’d grumble when his cousin showed him affection but the way he blushed pink you swore to your six year old self that he was the boy you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. And so you saw him in the yellow sunflowers your mother grew in her little garden. Little Kiyoomi would routinely scowl when you plopped down next to him and tuck the flower you secretly plucked from the garden behind his ear. He’d scowl and tell you to knock it off, that the flower was _dirty_ , but the rosy blush on his cheeks told you that he didn’t mind.

Then in high school, his presence danced in subtle shades of blues. Baby blue, like the sky he stood under during the opening ceremony where he stood across you, one arm stretched handing you your favorite bread, the writing in the package inked in a deep navy hue. By this time, your friendship had long matured from playdates and childlike antics to study sessions and the occasional heart to heart conversation. From an outsider’s perspective, it would have been a no brainer to conclude that the two of you were best friends. And at first, to you, that had been the case. Kiyoomi was the one who despite still scowling at you, would go the extra mile to take out the cheese on your burger before handing it to you, or would leave practice early to visit you if he noticed your uncharacteristic silence throughout the day. And if he couldn’t, he’d leave a parcel of your favorite snack inside your locker, the words “ _eat it and stop being like that”_ neatly written on a sticky note in deep, blue ink. 

And so on your third year, your smile would only widen as you scrolled through the same five selfies you forced Kiyoomi to take during your graduation. The sky being that same soft blue as that day during the opening ceremony, though only this time his head leaned against the top of yours (he _always_ made it a point to emphasize his height), and a smile resting on his lips, his signature mask nowhere to be found.

After looking through the photos, you laid back in bed raising your right hand to look at the bracelet he silently clasped on your wrist. A blue butterfly charm hanging next to a yellow sunflower. He was never public or too showy about his affections, but you never bothered to care. He found ways to always get the message across.

During your final years of university, Kiyoomi became red. Red, like the color his cheeks never failed to bloom into when you kissed him in the mornings. Red, the color of the cherry tomatoes he always asked you to include to pack in his bento box that he took with him on the days he had to go to work. It had become your favorite color, because red meant it was the season where you’d see the Christmas stockings hanging over the fireplace next to the tiny Christmas tree that you and Kiyoomi had decorated together. Red, like the love that bloomed in your heart when he clasped a rose charm on the same bracelet he bought you years ago, the petals on the flower painted in deep red.

And then after that one Christmas season, you began to hate it. Red was the shade of the lipstick you saw smeared on the collar of his dress shirt. The color that made you begin to doubt yourself. The color that made you sneak to the bathroom in the middle of the night, because maybe, _just maybe_ , you still had that red lipstick your friend had gifted you a year ago. Except every time, you didn’t. You always hated how red looked on you.

So you sat him down the next day, the same dress shirt with the same smeared red on the collar set on the table in between the two of you and asked him a silent “why?” And then Kiyoomi responded to you at first in silence, his head hung low, then eventually a silent sorry murmured from his lips.

You decided that you hated red, but you kept asking him the _who_ , the _when,_ and again the _why._ He sounded apologetic because you _knew_ he was like that. You knew Kiyoomi was sorry for being caught as he explained it was a classmate he’s known since his first year in university, that it’s been happening for a little over two months, but paused before answering your question of why. You sat across from him and nodded once, lips clipped shut, because you _do_ know that girl. You knew she always wore red lipstick because it looked _great_ on her. But you never would have guessed Kiyoomi looked at her like that. And then he cleared his throat a little awkwardly before meeting your stare.

“I’m sorry. I just felt like we were missing something.”

This became the part where for a brief second, all you saw was red. You watched the man sitting across from you, bubbling with seething anger, your cheeks flushed and _red_ , your lips bitten raw and _red_ from containing yourself. Slapping him was _definitely_ considered, but instead you reached for the clasp on your right wrist and took off the bracelet. Setting it next to the crumpled dress shirt, with the _fucking red smear_ , you stood up said “Fuck you, Sakusa.”, turned to grab your phone and wallet, and left.

Red, was the color of the stoplight when you glanced at your phone for a quick second, your eyes automatically watering upon catching the ‘ _I love you, can we please talk?’_ written on the screen. But green was the color the sign switched to as your resolve suddenly solidified. And you were sure, as you took a shaky breath and let the tears fall. You took it upon yourself to remember green. As you pressed on the gas pedal, and just _fucking moved._ Moved forward into a future without Kiyoomi. And you’d come to love the color green, because it reminded you in that standstill where all you saw were flashes of red from the anger and love that had been lost, that all you could really do from then on was just to _go._

And so now, years later, as you looked at the half filled boxes littering the apartment you were moving out of you felt okay. Because two years ago, you had met Hajime at an intersection where the pedestrian lit up green. And because of him, you let go of the man who used to shine to you in colors. Let go of the red that had cut you open and left you to bleed out as an aftermath. Hajime looked at you with patience in his eyes that never faltered as he walked with your healing. The soft green in his eyes, mirroring the color you’ve grown to love, and teaching you to forgive.

You stood up after taping the final box close and labeling them correctly. Hajime pulled you closer to him as he pecked the middle of your forehead. “You ready? Oikawa wants us to drop by his place and get the housewarming gift he was talking about. Something about how it’s supposed to mean joy or some shit.”

“What’d he get?”

He shrugged as he picked up the box and headed towards the door. “I don’t know. You know how unpredictable he can be.”

You followed his actions and picked up another box but not before pocketing your phone, “He means well, Haji.”

And you know Oikawa means well as you sit on the passenger seat of the car while Hajime drives to the house you two were moving into. You know Oikawa meant that he wished the two of you joy as you held a small flower pot with a budding sunflower peeking out. Hajime looks over at you when the stoplight blinks red as the car rolls to a stop. He looks at you, green eyes gentle and patient and reaches over to squeeze your hand. “This time, this flower will mean our joy.” He says as the lights turn green and the car begins to gain momentum.

You look down at the flower pot, then back at Hajime, an honest smile on your lips. To you, twenty something years ago, yellow sunflowers meant afternoons in sunny playgrounds where you’d put flowers in Kiyoomi’s hair. And in that snapshot in time, it’s undeniable that it _had_ given you joy. And so you let yourself exhale, because Oikawa means well, and Hajime is right. _This is your joy._ In the green eyes, patient smiles, and warm touches that was Hajime.

-

And later that night, Sakusa Kiyoomi found himself seated at a bar stool that had become familiar to him over the years. His first order of a whiskey sour sat in front of him as he stared into the open window to his right. His phone vibrated softly and the screen lit up against the dim lights of the quiet bar.

His eyes were quick to read the, ‘ _Thank you. Hope you’re doing well :)’_ reply you texted him. The gold in his eyes stayed fixated on the screen, rereading the texts over and over again until the screen turned black.

He quickly downed the liquid that was left in the glass before he turned to the bartender. The man behind the bar nodded in his direction, “Another one? Same thing?”

Kiyoomi let his left hand move into the pocket of his jacket, feeling the familiar shapes of the charm bracelet you left. If he closed his eyes he would remember how they looked on your wrist. A yellow sunflower, a blue butterfly, and a red rose. It took him a little while but he finally understood why you associated memories with people into colors. He began to do it after you left. But now all he saw was the black of the phone screen that was staring back at him.

Picking up his phone, he let his eyes look over the text you sent him again, then finally sighed and set his phone back on the table facing down. Remembering his request to order, he looked up at the bartender still waiting for his reply.

“Can I get something a little stronger?” 

**Author's Note:**

> “Life isn’t like the movies, but it sure will make you cry when it dawns on you that it’s time to say goodbye.”  
> \- Bruno Major


End file.
